But I have yet to make my peace with the earl. I must dispatch a
missive to Sir James d'Arcy, one of the marshals of the tournament. To
him I can explain how 'twas I failed, like a poltroon, to answer to the
challenge of Sir Gervaise de Maupas. When he seeth my condition and
heareth my tale, I have hopes that he will believe me."
"Hath not Edgar then----?" began Gertrude, opening her eyes in amaze.
"Hath not Edgar what; maiden? Is anything wrong?" cried Sir John, a
sudden look of apprehension coming into his face. "Surely the earl hath
not made proclamation of my disgrace because of my non-appearance in the
lists? Tell me quickly!"
"Nay, nay, Father, 'tis far from that. Indeed there is no need to
trouble Sir James or the earl. Thine honour is safe. Edgar should have
told thee all and not left it to me."
"Gertrude," cried Sir John, with a touch of sternness, "there is some
mystery here. Tell me what it may mean. Delay not, girl."
Without more ado Gertrude related to her father the events that followed
the first discovery of his disappearance--how, as the hours passed by,
they had grown convinced that De Maupas in some way had had him removed
with the object of disgracing him by his failure to appear in the lists,
and how at last Edgar, to save his honour, had determined to personate
him.
"What!" interrupted Sir John at this point. "Personate me! But surely
not in the combat in the lists?"
"Yes, yes, in the lists. 'Twas to save thine honour, and to punish Sir
Gervaise."
"'Twas a bold thought," murmured Sir John in wonderment. "But how could
he hope for aught but defeat against such a lance as De Maupas? And yet
he seemeth to have come to no great harm."
"He did not, Father. The first onset was terrific, but neither gained
much advantage, though Sir Gervaise's steed lost its balance and rolled
over. But in the encounter on foot Edgar handled Sir Gervaise most
roughly, and with a single axe-blow felled him senseless to the ground."
"What! He won?" cried Sir John in utter astonishment. "You tell me he
won? Truly never have I heard the like since the days of the paladins
of old. Ah, it must be to his extraordinary earnestness to learn that
he oweth so great a victory. His hard schooling at Gaspard's and his
constant practice elsewhere--ho! ho! De Maupas was well repaid, and
that right quickly, for his black treachery."
"None know the truth but ourselves," Gertrude went on. "Everyone
believed that Sir John Chartris left the camp immediately after the
encounter to pay the visit to Faucigny for which he had a few days
before obtained the earl's permission. All is well, Father, and thou
canst take up the threads where they fell when thou wert stolen away."
"Not so, my child," said Sir John thoughtfully. "I cannot allow laurels
undeserved to be bestowed upon me so freely. I must let the earl know
the truth. Think not that I am the less indebted to Edgar for his
daring and successful championing of my cause. Had De Maupas been
allowed to win his bloodless victory, a dark cloud of disgrace and
suspicion would have gathered about my poor name, and hard to disperse
should I have found it. A few might have believed my tale, but the
greater part would have continued to shake their heads dubiously
whenever my name was mentioned. As it is, I can tell the earl the story
of my capture at the same time that I tell him 'twas not I that appeared
in the lists. All will thus be well. Scarce a soul but will then
believe the tale."
"Edgar will surely be sorry. He will think thou art flinging away the
fruits of his victory."
"Nay, he will understand, for 'twould be what he would do himself were
he in my place. Sorrow not for him, for he will be the gainer. The
earl will love the tale, even though 'twill make him pull a wry face to
think how he and they all were fooled. My hopes rise, Gertrude. Urged
on by such daring and energy as this, truly we may well look to Edgar to
bring back our Beatrice. May God speed him!"
"May God keep him out of the hands of De Maupas!" replied Gertrude
feelingly; and Sir John echoed her words with deepest emphasis.
* * * * *
Riding to the limit of the endurance of their horses, Edgar and Peter
made rapid progress, and were soon back again in the neighbourhood of
Ruthenes. This time they did not ride directly into the village, but,
when within a mile or so, led their horses into a thick covert and tied
them to a tree. They then set off on foot for the castle, keeping well
away from the village.
"Tread silently, Peter, and keep a vigilant watch. I would not that any
saw us, especially of those belonging to the castle."
As soon as they came within sight of the castle Edgar gave the signal to
stop, and, keeping well out of sight of watchers on the wall, the two
young men reconnoitred it eagerly.
"There are more sentinels than ever," said Edgar, after a long and
earnest scrutiny. "I feared as much. Well, let us now work round to
the tree which masks the entrance to the underground passage. If that
way is still open to us, all is well."
"But surely they will have found the keys we left behind in the last
scramble up the steps cut within the tree trunk?" asked Peter. "They
will have locked the doors, and we shall be barred out."
"Doubtless, but I care not for that so long as there is no watcher
posted at the doors. With patience we can win a way through the
stoutest barriers. But if a sentinel is there, our hope of a silent
entry is gone."
Presently Edgar stopped and looked about him in some perplexity. "'Twas
near here, was it not, Peter, that the great tree spread its branches?
Nevertheless, I can see nothing of it."
"Yes, 'twas certainly near here, Master Edgar. Yon clump of
undergrowth--was it not through that we made our way out of sight and
reach of Black Eustace and De Maupas?"
"I fear they have cut down the tree and carried it away," said Edgar
forebodingly. "Search for the scar in the ground--ah, here 'tis,
carefully covered with leaves and twigs, to show no sign."
The two young men gazed down at the smooth patch of loose earth in
silent consternation. It was on the continued existence of the secret
passage that they had built most of their hopes, for in all their
discussions they had agreed that it would be almost an impossibility for
them to make their way over the walls and into the castle a second time.
Their first attempt had ended in capture, and it was not likely that a
second, with the garrison on the alert, would be any more successful.
"They have filled up the passage," cried Peter despondently. "What hope
is there now to find a way into the castle? Would that we had wings!"
"This is a heavy blow," said Edgar slowly. "I can think of no way in at
present. But we have always one thing to fall back on, so lose not hope
so soon, lad."
Peter looked up quickly. "Mean you to----"
"Yes, to throw in our lot with the priest. If we cannot win our way in
by strategy we must fall back on force of arms. But before the die is
cast for an assault upon the castle, let me think if there is no other
means possible."
For half an hour Edgar paced up and down the tiny glade formed by the
removal of the great tree whose hollow trunk had been so cunningly made
use of by the builders of the castle. From every point of view he
conned over in his mind the defences of the castle, and wrestled with
the problem of circumventing them. But he could think of no way that
offered any real hope of success, save by waiting and watching for some
special opportunity. This, however, was out of the question, for the
thought of the delicate and high-spirited Beatrice d'Alencon confined in
a castle whose gloom had weighed heavily upon the spirits even of men
inured to war and hardship was simply intolerable.
"Come, Peter," Edgar cried at last in the brisk voice of one who has
made up his mind, "come; I see no way in but by the sword, and while
that castle holdeth Sir Gervaise de Maupas little do I regret it. Let
us now seek Father Armand, and place ourselves by his side."
Peter gave a suppressed cheer, and followed with an eagerness that
showed that the prospect of an assault upon the castle appealed to him
not one whit less than it did to his master.
As soon as they had found their horses the two young men mounted and
rode quietly into the village. At the house which served as an inn they
stopped, and, calling the landlord, enquired for Father Armand.
"He is away from the village," replied the man, eyeing them narrowly.
"What want ye the good father for?"
"We desire a few words with him," replied Edgar. "It is most important.
Canst not fetch him or take us to him?"
The man shook his head.
"Perchance he is at the cave," suggested Edgar quietly. "If so, we will
go ourselves, for he hath told us the way."
The man's attitude changed at once. "Yes, sir, he is at the cave. I
did not know he had told thee all. I will go with thee and lead thy
horses. It will not be well to leave them in the village--thou know'st
why," he added, again eyeing Edgar narrowly.
Edgar nodded and accepted the man's offer to accompany them, though he
guessed it was made more with a view to keeping them under observation
than to assisting them. The man's attitude indicated plainly that the
priest had been as good as his word, and that the banner of revolt, if
it had not already been raised, was at least being nailed ready to the
staff.
At the cave they came upon a scene of animation. Yards of bush had been
cleared away, and in the open space scores of men were at work drilling
or furbishing up their arms. The drilling was of a most crude and
primitive nature, and would have appeared ludicrous to Edgar under other
circumstances. But he was too well aware of the cruelty and oppression
under which these men had groaned for so many years to smile at the poor
figure they cut in a soldier's eyes.
Moreover, he knew that nothing but the determination born of despair
could have brought them to the pitch of assaulting a strong and
well-garrisoned castle, unequipped as they were with any of the engines
of war. For a moment or two he could not see Father Armand, but
presently he espied him, with hood flung back and gown tucked up,
explaining and demonstrating to some of the more stupid of his levies
what they were expected to do when he gave certain orders. The moment
he saw Edgar and Peter he left his work and ran quickly forward to meet
them.
"Sir Squire," he cried eagerly, "doth thy return mean that thou
art----?"
"Yes, yes, Father," cried Edgar, grasping the hands which the priest
extended to him, and pressing them warmly. The sight of the kindly
face, with its lines that told of care and sorrow, stirred him
strangely. How gallant was the old man thus to take up the sword in
what must have seemed almost a forlorn hope to one unused to any sort of
warfare but that of the spirit! "Yes, Father, we have come to throw in
our lot with you. For weal or woe, we are members of your band."
"Not members--leaders," cried the priest impetuously. "We sadly lack
skill and knowledge, and of these I know ye possess as much as, if not
more than, our ancient enemy. Come, let me tell my people the brave
news. It will cheer their hearts, for, though they have answered to my
call willingly and eagerly, it is more the willingness of men to go to
death rather than remain in soul-destroying bondage than that of men
marching forward with the expectation of victory."
Calling to the assembled bands, the priest bade them form in two lines
in something approaching military formation. Then he told them the
story of Edgar's and Peter's first coming, and how they had,
single-handed, made entry into the castle and, in spite of capture and
alarums, succeeded in bringing away him whom they had set out to rescue.
Though Edgar could not follow the whole of the priest's patois, he could
see that the story was well and graphically told, and that it made a
deep impression on the listeners. Then the priest went on to tell of
how he had made request to the two strangers to stop and assist them in
their undertakings, and how, in loyalty to their sick master, they had
reluctantly refused. Finally he told them that they had now returned
and placed themselves at his disposal in their righteous war for
freedom.
A roar of applause rose as the priest paused for a moment and placed his
hand on Edgar's shoulder.
"They have knowledge of war, and must lead us," he went on. "This man I
appoint to lead us in the field. He shall be co-equal with me. I shall
command, except when we move forward to battle, when Sir Squire will
take the lead, and I shall fight by his side."
There was another roar of enthusiastic applause, and the men broke ranks
and crowded eagerly about the newcomers. Seeing that something seemed
to be expected of him, Edgar sprang upon the back of his horse and held
up his hand. The spirit of the priest and his men and their just cause
had so stirred him that he forgot for the moment that he was a simple
esquire with little experience of warfare and small claims to ability to
lead an attack upon a powerful castle. He only knew that he was ready
to do whatever was asked of him--to lead or to follow, he cared not
which, so that he might aid a plucky people struggling to be free.
In a few words, simple and slow, from his imperfect knowledge of the
local dialect, he told them that victory could never be theirs unless
all were ready to give prompt obedience to their leaders, to work hard,
to fight to the death, and to think, not of plunder, but only of victory
and justice. The speech was well received, and Edgar dropped back to
the ground with the feeling that, though he and his men might be beaten,
it would be from lack of skill rather than from lack of courage and
determination.
"Shall we move to the attack at once?" cried the priest, his eyes
flashing with eagerness. "Our numbers are almost complete--one hundred
and fifty all told."
"Nay, good Father, let us hold council of war. Nothing will be lost by
waiting an hour or so."
"Come, then, let us to the cave and hold council forthwith. Our men are
full of eagerness now, and I would that thou couldst see thy way to an
attack at once."
Moving to the entrance of the cave the priest, Edgar, and Peter took
counsel together.
"What food have ye collected to feed this great host of thy people,
Father Armand?" asked Edgar quietly. He could see that the priest was
over-excited, and wished to bring him back to cooler thoughts as well as
to find out exactly how matters lay with his new command.
"But little, I fear," replied the priest. "We are so poor that food and
money can only be gathered in the smallest quantities. Any man that
hath more than his starving fellows is soon relieved of his surplus by
the arch-robbers of the castle."
"Men cannot fight well with half-starved bodies," responded Edgar,
shaking his head. "Nevertheless we must do the best we can with the
means at our disposal. How are the enemy off for food? How often do
they receive fresh supplies? I should dearly love to begin the campaign
by capturing the wagons bringing to them their ill-gotten stores."
"I know not when the next falls due, but always of late they have sent
mounted men-at-arms to escort the wagons to the castle. Several armed
guards, too, accompany their cattle when they are driven forth and back
to pasture every morning."
"Ha! Where pasture they the cattle?"
"At a field a short way along the road in the opposite direction to the
village."
"Those cattle must be captured, Father. 'Twill be a blow to the enemy,
and at the same time provide us with food for our starving levies."
Many more questions Edgar asked, until he had a full grasp of the
situation and could help to plan for the great attack. Presently from
their discussions a plan emerged and took shape, and when the council of
war broke up a definite course of action, which seemed to give the
priest, at any rate, full satisfaction, had been decided upon.
The drilling was resumed, this time under Edgar's direction, and arms
were again inspected under the experienced eye of the armourer's
assistant. It soon became generally understood that the morrow was to
witness the opening of the attack, and the men went about their tasks
with a zest and eagerness that had been absent an hour or two before.
With scarce a moment's intermission the preparations continued till
night came and a semblance of peace fell upon the warlike scene.
*CHAPTER XVII*
*The Opening of the Attack*
"Let every man understand that silence is of far more importance than
speed," said Edgar to the priest the following morning, as the latter
put himself at the head of a body of forty men carrying spades in
addition to their weapons. "If you do your work thoroughly and silently
Peter and I will see that you are not disturbed."
"The work shall be done, and done well," responded the priest
cheerfully. "See thou, Sir Squire, to thy part. To thee the
conflict--and let it be victory, for defeat at the outset will be hard
indeed to bear."
"Father," responded Edgar quietly, "I have told thee why I have come
again and why I must enter yon castle. With such responsibility resting
on my shoulders, am I likely to submit to failure while there is a
chance of victory? Can I return to my master alive and unsuccessful?"
The priest grasped Edgar by the hand and wrung it warmly. "For thee as
well as for me it is victory or the grave," he said simply. Then he
gave the word to his men and the band marched steadily away.
Peter's band followed next. It numbered only about thirty strong, but
was composed of the younger and more alert-looking men. Lastly came the
largest body, commanded by Edgar. This was clearly composed of the
toughest fighting material among the peasantry, and appeared to be
intended to bear the brunt of any fighting that might ensue.
While the men were on the move, spies came and reported that the cattle
belonging to the castle had, as usual, been driven to their pasture,
escorted by a body of ten mounted men-at-arms.
"The guard waxes stronger every day," said the priest meaningly. "They
must, I fear, have an inkling of what is afoot."
Edgar nodded. "It may only be an inkling," he said.
The three bodies of men presently arrived at the road which led from the
castle gates through the thick woods for about four hundred yards before
it branched in two, the one track leading to the village and the other
to the fields in which the castle cattle grazed. A few paces from the
point where the roads separated a halt was made, and the priest's
contingent flung down their weapons and grasped their spades. A section
of the roadway was pointed out to them, and, using the utmost caution,
that no sound might penetrate to the castle, the men began to dig with a
suppressed energy which told how much their hearts were in their work.
Satisfied that they understood the need for silence and could be relied
upon, Edgar dispatched Peter and his band along the road for a hundred
yards or so in the direction of the castle. Their office was to
intercept and capture all who came that way, and, at all costs, to
prevent their return to the castle with news of what was proceeding.
Edgar then gave the word to his own men and marched them off upon the
road taken by the cattle and their escort. A few hundred yards from the
field in which the animals were pastured he called a halt, and posted
the men in the woods on either side of the track, ready to ambush the
men-at-arms on their return to the castle.
Free for the moment, he made his way to the edge of the woods
overlooking the field, and stood for some time watching the escort of
men-at-arms. In the ordinary way one of their number would have been set
to watch while the others flung themselves down to rest or to dice away
their time. Instead of that, however, they had gathered together in a
group, and appeared to be eagerly discussing some matter of absorbing
interest. It seemed only too clear that by some means the castle had
gained an inkling of what was going on, and equally clear that the
difficulties and dangers of the peasants' task had been increased
fourfold.
The morning wore on until the time for the return of the cattle arrived.
They were collected and, preceded by two men, were driven back along the
road by which they had come, the rest of the guard following behind.
Suddenly and without warning a shrill whistle sounded. A rush of men
from the undergrowth on each side of the road instantly followed. The
men-at-arms forming the escort were not unready, but they were spread
out two deep, and the attackers were among them before they could gather
thickly in defence. A wild and confused struggle ensued. Edgar's own
dash forward brought him into contact with two soldiers, the farther one
of whom instantly snatched a horn from his belt and placed it to his
lips. Guessing that the man was about to signal for assistance, Edgar
charged impetuously, cut down the man nearest to him, and sprang upon
the one sounding the alarm.
The action, swift as it was, came too late, and for some moments the
note of the horn resounded unchecked high above the din of the conflict.
Without pausing in his attack Edgar listened eagerly for a reply, and in
a few seconds caught the answering note of a horn wound long and full.
The sound came from the direction of the castle, and, as it ceased, in
its place he seemed to hear the deeper note of a loud cheer of
encouragement.
The encouragement came too late, however, for by that time all
resistance was at an end. Seven of the men-at-arms had been cut down,
and the remainder overwhelmed and forced to surrender.
"Re-form into rank, men--onward!" cried Edgar, and without waiting to
count the cost of the victory, the band was rapidly marched back the way
it had come, six men being left behind to guard the prisoners and to
take charge of the captured cattle.
"Hark!" suddenly cried one of the men, raising his hand in the air.
The harsh, unmistakable rattle of the chains of the castle drawbridge
could plainly be heard, followed in a few seconds by the hollow, distant
beat of horses' hoofs upon the planking, as though a troop of horsemen
was spurring vigorously across.
"Follow me," cried Edgar, breaking into a run, and at top speed the men
sped down the track towards the place where a few hours before they had
left the band commanded by the priest hard at work.
Rounding a bend they came in full sight of the spot, but before them the
roadway stretched, to all appearances, as firm and unbroken as ever.
Could their comrades have failed them? Not a soul was in sight until,
in the distance, a strong body of men-at-arms, headed by two knights
clad in full armour, appeared galloping rapidly towards them. At the
sight of the loose body of armed peasantry in front of them the knights
and their following sent up a savage cheer of exultation, and, setting
spurs to their horses, thundered furiously down upon the others.
At the grim, heart-shaking spectacle, Edgar felt his men involuntarily
check their speed.
"Rally, men, and charge the tyrants!" he cried loudly, and, echoing his
words, his men recovered their nerve and pressed along after him.
Rapidly the two forces closed in upon one another until but a few yards
of the roadway separated them. Sir Eustace, who, with De Maupas, headed
the castle garrison, had even levelled his lance full at Edgar's breast,
when all of a sudden the very ground seemed to open beneath his feet!
There was a rending crash as a framework of branches, covered with straw
and earth, concealing a pit dug in the roadway, gave beneath his weight
and sent him crashing headlong into the chasm. De Maupas and many of
the men-at-arms behind, unable to stop their furious advance, fell
headlong after him until the yawning pit was choked with a mass of
struggling men and horses.
"Charge home!" cried Edgar, and with a wild cheer he and his men sprang
upon the struggling mass and towards the files spurring to their aid.
Another and more desperate combat began. From both sides and the rear
sprang the men of the priest's and Peter's bands, as they issued forth
from their leafy screens and attacked the astounded garrison.